


Medical Mayhem

by Luthienberen



Category: Sherlock Holmes and Doctor Watson (TV 1980)
Genre: Case Fic, Established Relationship, Fluff, Friendship, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-17
Updated: 2019-11-17
Packaged: 2021-02-08 04:09:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21469825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luthienberen/pseuds/Luthienberen
Summary: Following a satisfactory conclusion to the Harry Rigby case and a private celebration afterwards, Watson was looking forward to some peace and quiet. Attending medical lectures by the great Lister should do the trick. He ought to have known better. Peace and quiet? Hardly!
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 8
Kudos: 14
Collections: Holmestice Exchange - Winter 2019





	Medical Mayhem

**Author's Note:**

  * For [a_different_equation](https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_different_equation/gifts).

> I am not sure I delivered on an obscure Victorian fact, but hopefully the Holmes/Watson and the small case within still provide enjoyment : )

* * *

The clock was tolling two in the morning by the time they had trapped Mrs Bailey and finished with Lestrade in the police station. It was then, once they had returned home that Watson discovered how taken Holmes was with his rough labour appearance. 

Watson locked their door firmly, grateful for the privacy of their quarters where he could finally order his appearance. In the station he had only managed to don his coat, everything had been so rushed that the doctor had been unable to reclaim his collar and cravat in the time allowed.

Laying his jacket on his armchair Watson suddenly had clever fingers trailing up his bare forearms. Facing Holmes, he saw that intense gaze he adored so much, torn between watching Watson's arm muscles flex under Holmes' touch and the exposed flesh of his throat.

Watson laughed and was rather amused to see Holmes transfixed by the bobbing movement. Snatching up those nervous digits, Watson cradled calloused hands in his own, worn from surgery and the battlefield - Maiwand and in his service with Holmes. 

"Do you like what you see Holmes?"

Holmes flushed. "What makes you think that Watson?"

"Oh, a simple matter of deduction my dear."

Watson raised his right hand to brush back a few strands of blond hair that had fallen over Holmes' forehead. 

"Really?" Watson traced a path down his detective's temple to his cheek with the tips of his fingers and paused at the corner of a quivering mouth. 

"It is quite obvious Holmes." Smiling sensuously, Watson gently dropped Holmes' clasped hands.

Instead, he reached for Holmes' tie, swiftly untying and discarding the bolt of silk on the nearest armchair. Holmes' breathing deepened; cheeks redder as he braced his free hands on Watson's chest. Watson's skin tingled from the warmth of his lover's touch, causing heat to rise in his belly and groin.

It took but a moment to peel off Holmes' waistcoat and even more quickly to undo the top of Holmes' shirt as he endeavoured to remove the offending garment. Fortunately Holmes aided his actions by stepping back to strip.

Pale flesh was revealed to Watson's hungry gaze. Eager to progress matters Watson copied Holmes, shucking his waistcoat and untidy shirt, grateful his wrist cuffs, stiff collar and cravat were safely tucked in his jacket, now buried under two shirts, a tie and two waistcoats.

"Watson," breathed Holmes, eyes dark with longing.

Answering his detective's call Watson moved forwards finally laying his hands on that wonderfully slim chest. Gently stroking the trembling flesh, Watson skimmed over pale scars and lean muscle - marks of Holmes' encounters with crime and lessons in fencing and boxing. Over a quivering belly his skilled surgeon's fingers brushed a vivid white mark, a remnant of one of Holmes' misguided experiments (otherwise known as The Green Tea Incident, too much hot water and a poison best consigned to an alchemist's book).

Increasingly riled by Watson's touch, Holmes elected to encourage the good doctor. Quick fingers danced over Watson's broad chest, while grey-green eyes drank in the sight of muscles flexing under bronzed skin. 

It was incredibly distracting, sparking twitches of desire throughout his core. Yet Watson held firm. Embracing his companion he relished the feel of Holmes’ added hard length against his leg and pressed his own firmly against Holmes.

Panting fiercely, his friend and lover met his gaze squarely. His voice was ragged, but the challenge nonetheless present.

"I thought surgeons were quick and decisive Watson?"

"On the contrary Holmes. Surgeons and doctors, while divisive ought to be methodical in ensuring they reach the correct diagnosis and wield their tool correctly."

Watson slipped his right hand down, inserting his hand between their joined bodies to press on Holmes' rigid flesh.

Holmes groaned and pressed forwards, eyelids fluttering before fixing once more on Watson. 

He was pleased to see how unravelled his collected detective had become, so Watson briefly curled his fingers around Holmes then released with a wicked grin.

"We are indeed quick my dear Holmes when necessary, but the best are swift and accurate and we _do_ have anaesthesia these days Holmes. Surgeons are not - or should not be - butchers."

"I assure you, _John_," hissed Holmes as he gripped Watson's shoulders for support, tilting his head down slightly for a fierce kiss that had Watson short of breath, "I have no desire for anaesthesia, but the swift skilled touch of my doctor."

Watson couldn't help but laugh raggedly at Holmes' sentiments.

"You are incorrigible, _Sherlock_. If I had known that leaving off my collar and rolling up my sleeves could undo you so, I would have endeavoured to attempt so sooner."

"Your forearms and throat are to blame," stated Holmes firmly. "Now will my doctor operate or not?"

"On the understanding that I am not a surgeon; merely a practitioner of medicine who does simple closing of wounds, then _yes_."

Watson laughed again at the glare his statement received. Teasing Holmes in the sanctuary of their home was fun and he often mused at Lestrade's horror if he ever stumbled upon them during one of their sessions.

The man suspected, but due to his position as a policeman he never asked or pried. Only once had he alluded to their situation - and then specifically in Watson's company when Holmes was busy with cataloguing their latest case.

_"Mr Holmes is too clever for his own good," commented Lestrade as he accepted a cup of tea from Watson._

_Before Watson could reply by noting the police's shortcomings and their reliance on this far too clever gentleman, Lestrade had continued, stirring sugar into his teacup with a peculiar purpose._

_"He knows more about people and their emotions than I care to admit, but sometimes genius forgets not to look."_

_"Pardon?"_

_Lestrade sipped his tea and flashed a nervous glance at Watson before studying his tea. _

_"When he looks at you doctor. Even genius can be triumphed by a stupid and observant man or woman. I am sure you can apply the right treatment Doctor Watson; you **are** a doctor after all."_

_Then Lestrade had gulped down almost too hot tea and left in a hurry._

_There hadn't been much to the remark apart from his tone. That contained the world, heavy with knowledge._

_Nevertheless, Watson had been confused and worried until he truly observed the manner in which occasionally Holmes' shields would fall and his eyes would track Watson._

_Then he understood and thanked Lestrade next time with an innocent bottle of excellent wine._

_Meanwhile, like Lestrade suggested, the doctor had prescribed treatment for Holmes and now they both guarded their exchanges in public far more cautiously._

Alive with the memory of that encounter Watson surveyed his cool headed detective, who despite cold rational reason conveyed so much passion for his hobbies such as music, or his research in chemistry and crime.

Even more when those eyes that fixed on Watson and told everything, as Lestrade had feared.

Love and overwhelming devotion caressed him, while Watson was gratified to witness that expression of Holmes' which indicated he was attempting to calculate how to shower affection on Watson. 

Such affection was offered in the way a cat might bestow affection on a favoured human: in one heartbeat aloof and casually sharing space quite by accident, and at other times lavishing full on attention by Holmes’ standards: a discreet touch on the elbow when in public, holding arms or at home, kisses when passing by or a press of hands when the jam was exchanged for his loved marmalade.

Now Holmes was evidently debating his next action, so before he gained the upper hand Watson moved in that decisive manner Holmes always preferred.

Reaching for his beloved Sherlock he bridged the gap, bringing their naked bodies in alignment. Trembling heated flesh met and both men groaned.

Taking Holmes' left hand Watson led them to his quarters. For prudence they had maintained separate rooms, desiring also to spare Mrs Hudson from knowing for certain and thereby placing their faithful landlady in an awkward position. However, they used Watson's bedroom the most for romantic entanglements, covering the vista of sleep and company as well as passion.

Watson's abode afforded them more room since Holmes' space was rather occupied with his costumes, make-up and various paraphernalia related to poisons, criminal history, grades of tobacco and one rather battered book on bees for some reason.

Hence Watson ushered Holmes into his room. Taking the time to light the lamps, Watson subsequently faced an eager Holmes who had been admiring him.

Urging Holmes onto their bed, Watson lay between Holmes' legs, a hair width distant. Both of their breathing was quick and shallow. Watson enjoyed the rise and fall of Holmes' chest and would have kissed a path down it if his detective hadn't pressed his advantage.

Those lovely legs wrapped around him, dragging Watson flush to Holmes. The solid heat and press of Holmes along him, their bellies touching and erect manhoods _finally_ in contact undid Watson's final control.

"You are impatient tonight Sherlock," he scolded, kissing the man he loved dearly. 

The kiss was hard and relentless. Watson drank in the taste and feel of Holmes, of the delicious hot mouth that opened under his, of the demanding moans and Holmes' seeking pleasure and returning in kind. Holmes grinned at the tickle of Watson's moustache, raising one hand so he could splay fingers across Watson's cheek, the tips of his fingers seeking the bristling moustache in the tiny breaks when Watson changed position to grab air before continuing.

Their bodies moved together as they kissed and Watson shuddered at the feel of Holmes' hardness rubbing against his firmness. Breaking off, Watson reached for the oil he kept close on his bedside table - citing its use for when his shoulder was stiff.

Kneeling up much to Holmes' protest, Watson just grinned.

"Trust your doctor Sherlock. I can be _extremely _quick when required.”

Pouring a generous amount onto his hands, Watson allowed some to dribble onto their stiff cocks. The sensation was incredible on his heated and flushed flesh.

Watson could see how Holmes approved, clutching the bed covers to prevent himself from touching - an endearing trait, for Holmes would be _too_ quick despite his calls for speed.

His cock was engorged and a beautiful rosy shade. Lowering himself slightly Watson squeezed their lengths together and Holmes' eyes snapped shut.

"Do you agree?" 

Skilled hands applied the oil, a merciless cage even as Watson now switched to cradling Holmes' cock in one broad palm while with his other he slicked his own length. 

"My doctor talks too much," gasped Holmes, eyes on Watson's antics, tongue licking his lips and long slender fingers twisting in the bedclothes.

Watson chuckled and allowed one finger to nudge the heavy balls he loved tormenting. Holmes threw back his head, golden hair a complete mess. It was a thrilling vision.

"No more words then," whispered Watson.

He deposited a gentle kiss on the dip of Holmes' throat and brought their manhoods into alignment. Then it was movement: the glorifying slide of rigid flesh, the feel of silken skin over muscle in his hand and the building pressure in his lower belly.

Their breaths and quiet moans filled the room and Watson could feel his balls tightening and then intense pleasure.

Holmes had followed suit and lay exhausted, chest moving rapidly. Watson allowed himself a minute to recover then he was up and cleaning them of the incriminating evidence, checking the bed and organising the room.

"My trusty soldier, doctor and dearest John," sighed Holmes, that glint of humour already returned to his gaze and in the tired smile tugging at his lips.

Watson grinned and joined Holmes. Sleep came on eagle's wings considering their long day and exertions. Watson's last thought was that he should dress like Harry Rigby on special occasions to see if the results of this encounter could be replicated. They were scientists after all.

* * *

A peaceful week passed with Holmes preoccupied with recording his observations on their recent case and excited about the prospect of being engaged concerning a missing sailor, with the Captain including the curious reference to a leviathan. The letter detailing such an incredible accusation was to be followed by the Captain visiting them in person on the Saturday, once he had finished with the port authorities.

The timing of the appointment was fortunate for Watson, since he had a prior engagement on the Friday and would have been sorry to miss what promised to be an interesting (if possibly fanciful) tale.

Friday thankfully dawned bright and warm, with the breakfast table cutting a pretty pattern of light and shadow from the early morning sunlight filtering through the lace curtains.

Jars of preserve already sat awaiting a silver spoon, while browned bread decorated the toast rack and still warm plates adorned the cloth.

Watson smiled at the sight as he finished fixing his cuffs. Mrs Hudson had excelled in organising an early repast for him. Holmes would rise later as was his wont, particularly as he had finally finished recording the Harry Rigby case in his own fashion, namely in his scrapbooks. He had retired to his own bedroom far later than Watson who needed to be up early, so only one member of the household was up with the larks.

Chuckling at the thought, Watson slid into his seat, careful to place a napkin over his lap. He was indecently clad in merely a shirt and trousers with sock covered feet tucked in slippers. He had an important event to attend today so Watson was anxious not to spoil his clothes, especially his fancy waistcoat.

He still tackled Mrs Hudson’s breakfast with fervour and put in a good show for his landlady’s breakfasts were not to be missed. Reserves fully restocked, Watson hastened to dress and checked he had his Gladstone bag stocked and ready. Just before he left he popped into Sherlock’s room, where the man was sprawled out on top of the covers, to grace his detective with a kiss on his forehead. Holmes sighed in his sleep and stretched but did not fully awaken.

Smiling fondly, Watson returned to the sitting room to check that the marmalade he had purchased a week ago was still sufficient for Holmes’ needs. It was, so he donned his coat, stick and caught up his bag, ensuring to lock the door behind him. Mrs Hudson could always enter with her own keys to restock the breakfast table.

From Baker Street to King’s College Hospital was not an arduous journey and Watson arrived with time to spare. The elegant building rose before him with doctors and nurses arriving with members of the public straggling in.

Watson joined the tide and once inside approached the reception to receive directions to the surgical ward where the morning lecture would be held.

Quite a number of his fellow colleagues were milling outside the room, laughing and chatting. The atmosphere was pleasantly refreshing, filled with the chatter of his profession exchanging stories and opinions. The general tone was of excitement and as Watson approached he caught snippets.

_“Have you ever met Doctor Lister?”_

_“No, but my professor has and he said that Doctor Lister is a humble and shy man.”_

It was an accurate sentiment of the great man who had ushered in the theory and practice of antisepsis in the face of incredible opposition. Watson had never spoken with Lister, but had been fortunate enough to sit through one of his lectures during his medical studies.

Watson had been inspired and invigorated by Lister’s hand-on methods and burgeoning theories on how infection was caused by microscopic germs. Listening to Lister who had built on the research started by Louis Pasteur and developed a way to destroy infection before it began or limited its scope if underway, was thrilling. 

The opportunities it offered were life-changing and Watson had carried his enthusiasm stirred throughout his studies and into his fledgling career when he had joined the Army. In the terrible aftermath when he had left the service Watson had nurtured Lister’s continually evolving methods.

Watching the type of antiseptics grow on the market was terribly fascinating and Watson tried keeping abreast of the latest developments even as he accompanied Sherlock in solving crimes of all calibres.

Hence his presence at Lister’s lecture today. Holmes had been encouraging of Watson’s attendance and promised that he would refuse all cases until the morrow. Holmes’ insistence was a pleasant warmth in his heart, especially as he replayed the memory.

Lestrade would probably be relieved for a respite from the unusual antics presented by the brilliant detective he found himself inextricably tied to, and the doctor with who he equally turned to for explanations or post mortems when the police surgeon was absent.

So, humming softly Watson slipped into the surgical unit which also had tiered seats for students to observe and learn. Choosing a seat at the front Watson prepared to enter a world of medical discovery and wonder.

* * *

The late afternoon sun slanted through the windows of the lecture hall where Doctor Lister was beginning another talk. There had been discussion and debate where the humble man had managed to hold his own with gentle words and logical refutations.

Alas, Watson was not present. Instead he stood beside his friend, a fellow doctor, examining the deceased body of another member of the medical profession. The gentleman was slumped over the laboratory desk, head turned to one side, arms cradled his head. He was fully attired but his equipment was disturbed as if someone had tried cleaning up after themselves. 

“He has not been dead long Stefan. Rigor mortis has not yet set in and his body is still warm, though that could be due to the warm day.”

“I would propose one hour, since that was how long I was absent.”

Watson looked curiously at his friend with whom he shared the occasional shift in the London Hospital as a volunteer and who he was on first name’s basis - a rare instance in society, but Stefan had been friendly and commented that his surname was too difficult to pronounce (Watson had discovered that he was correct so had plunged into an oddly intimate first name exchange).

“King’s College Hospital is not your usual stomping ground Stefan. Why were you checking the supplies in this training laboratory?”

Stefan smiled wanly. “As a favour for a friend, otherwise I would be attending Doctor Lister’s lectures.”

“Hmmm, well neither of us will do so now.” 

Watson sighed, “Holmes will be excessively pleased that I have stumbled upon a murder and upset my timetable instead of he being the guilty party for once.”

Stefan grinned. “I’ll hold the fort until you return.”

Watson nodded and departed to send an urgent telegram.

Typical really, after a slew of cases Watson had yearned for a small respite by this distraction, intending to maintain an active knowledge in the latest developments in his field.

Yet...he _did_ live for the rush into danger and the clever manner in which Holmes (with his trusty doctor's help) solved intriguing and often unique cases, so he couldn’t really complain.

Holmes arrived within two hours of the despatch of the telegram, eyes merry and voice brimming with innocence.

“I feel your lecture and my promise were misplaced, or at least in the wrong order.”

“Wonderful my dear Holmes. I shall recall this incident the next time I attend medical lectures.”

Holmes clapped him on the shoulder and winked at Stefan who was attempting to not laugh considering the grim circumstances.

“To be fair, when a doctor turns foul then he or she is a fearsome enemy. They have the knowledge and often the nerve to implement their plan and the cool headed passion to carry them through.”

Watson shuddered, memories of Dr Palmer haunting him. “Then I suggest we prevent my fellow professional from escaping justice.”

“Lead on.”

Stefan unlocked the door and they stepped inside with Stefan hastily relocking the door.

“I have notified the Hospital secretary, but reassured him that Mr Holmes is investigating on our behalf. I may have implied that we would have the case solved before suppertime.”

Holmes raised an eyebrow. 

Stefan shrugged sheepishly and Watson felt compelled to explain their reasoning.

“We have suspects in mind Holmes and we know none of them have departed yet. They are still in attendance in Doctor Lister’s afternoon session.”

Holmes walked around the slumped body, left intact, eyes scanning and seeing more than others.

“May I inquire why you suspect these mysterious persons?”

Watson approached the victim. “Doctor Llewellyn - our victim - mentioned to Stefan that he was ill with a cold for he was dosing on a bottle of Mrs Windle’s Cough Syrup.”

“I recall you eschewing such remedies, deeming them dangerous?”

“They have their place in society, but I always direct my patients to a trusted chemist whom I know will not overdose on opium or cocaine or similar.” 

Watson gently lifted Llewellyn’s left arm, pulled up the arm of the jacket and rolled back the shirt sleeve to display an ugly looking injection site. It was vivid and obviously fresh, bruising on the skin indicating it had happened while Dr Llewellyn was alive.

Holmes bent down to sniff, fingers touching the skin around the injection site.

“You recognise the smell Watson?”

“Morphine, yes. Death was due to morphine overdose, though a post-mortem would ascertain this beyond doubt. Stefan searched for the needle but found nothing. However, we examined Mrs Windle’s Cough Syrup and well...look.”

Stefan came forward with two petri dishes. One with a dark liquid, the other with a paler tone. 

“The paler tone is how the cough syrup should appear,” Stefan said. “The darker liquid has substantially more opium and reeks of it too. Dr Llewellyn would have become unconscious in moments.”

“Surely Dr Llewellyn would notice the difference.”

Stefan shook his head. “He could barely breathe through his nose and I witnessed him drink directly from the bottle.”

“Doctors and nurses truly are the worst patients.”

Holmes finished his examination of the injection site and the rest of the arm. He hummed as he glanced about, eyes resting on the disturbed desk. He sniffed a beaker and seemed fascinated by the table leg the beaker was positioned by.

“What of the table?”

“I checked and while the equipment is disordered, I believe it was done purposefully for the table is remarkably clean despite the misplaced items.”

Watson rolled down the sleeve and met Holmes’ curious stare.

“As if the murderer was attempting to implicate someone else while covering their tracks?”

“Yes.”

“Stefan?”

“Unfortunately yes, however luckily for Stefan while he was stocking the room he was not alone. Matron Henna was always present with him and before Stefan left Dr Llewellyn alone one of the orderlies had spent half an hour in his company. This morning Stefan sat beside me during the lectures and at lunch.”

Holmes paced, clearly delighted to Watson’s eyes, yet still appearing pensive to any other observer.

“Excellent. So we can safely discard Stefan.”

“Thank you,” remarked Stefan dryly.

Holmes absently nodded. “And these three mysterious individuals?”

“Stefan noted that the position for House Surgeon is vacant. Such posts are difficult to obtain and whoever is successful would acquire influence and comfort.”

Stefan put aside the dishes and swallowed hard. “Normally it is dependent on your contacts as much as your ability. However, Dr Llewellyn was the obvious candidate considering his experience and ability to work well with the staff and students. There were three other potentials however: Doctors Aloysius Grant, Francis Rust and Rudolf Randall.”

“All three are in the lecture hall as you said?”

“Yes.”

“I do not wish to bias myself; however, please can you repeat to me any facts that are relevant to the case and in respect of these gentlemen, who you think most likely to be the murderer.”

Watson smiled encouragingly at Stefan, adding gently, “Any suspicions you have please do share. As for facts, who would be the most likely candidate to gain the position of House Surgeon if Dr Llewellyn was indisposed? Hopefully, our murderer was not entertaining the idea of killing the rest of his competition.”

“I cannot discount stupidity,” commented Holmes with a quick smile at Watson, which sent a flush of pleasure through him. “Yet, it would be...foolish to leave a rather obvious trail to your door.” 

Stefan inclined his head in agreement and said tentatively, “Both Doctor Grant and Randall are the next in line for the post, however Doctor Randall was unaware of Doctor Llewellyn’s cold - this much I can surmise due to the fact that Doctor Randall has been in the countryside until today and indeed, he rushed directly to the lecture hall upon his arrival.”

“Therefore, unless he is working with someone he can be lowered in our immediate candidacy for murderer. Grant?” 

Watson observed with interest Stefan's increase in anxiety. 

"I do not wish to speak ill of a colleague, but Dr Grant is...frustrating at best, impossible at the worst. His temper can be nice and steady when, quite abruptly, his mood will change and one becomes the focus of his mis-directed rage and insults. He is an excellent surgeon, but has a poor understanding of social niceties - nor does he care to learn or request aid in such matters."

"Interesting, yet those qualities do not make him a killer." 

"No, but there was little love lost between Grant and Llewellyn. Of course the killer could be attempting to frame him like he tried with me."

"Which either speaks for an accomplice of Dr Randall's or Dr Rust, who would still be behind the other two men even with Dr Llewellyn out of the picture," Holmes commented with a frown.

He tapped his fingers thoughtfully on the desk. Watson enjoyed seeing Holmes' thought processes in action, especially the little furrow on Holmes' forehead - it made him wish he could kiss the site, much to Holmes' exaggerated protests.

In lieu of such an action Watson applied the only treatment he could in public, even with Stefan present.

"My dear Holmes, surely we are overthinking it. You once remarked on the dangers of overcomplicating a case as well as oversimplifying one. I strongly suspect this is the occasion where we are in danger of overcomplicating."

"Indeed Watson?" Holmes gazed at him curiously, lips twitching. 

A challenge - perfect. Watson rose to it with relish, expression determined.

"If Dr Randall has an accomplice that would require a nurse, an orderly, a student or a doctor, as members of the public - barring yourself - are not permitted into a training laboratory."

Stefan jumped into the exchange enthusiastically. "Dr Randall would also have needed to be informed of Dr Llewellyn's cold and trusted his accomplice to mix the right dose of opium into it so that Dr Llewellyn would be rendered unconscious for the morphine overdose."

"There is also no morphine missing from the stock room," Watson grinned at Holmes. "So it is a private supply, namely a doctor. Either Dr Randall handed over his personal supply before he left for the countryside or another doctor is willing to potentially hang."

"Feasible, though a risk for little gain," agreed Holmes. "Yet it doesn't rule him out."

"No, but opium was also obtained from somewhere and doctors tend to have less questions asked - and greater funds - than nurses or orderlies and while a few students may have the necessary funds it would still be a terrible risk."

"Very well, but why Dr Grant over Dr Rust?"

Watson exhaled slowly as he carefully composed his reply. 

"Dr Rust is a good surgeon but not as good as his competition. I have personally met the man and though murderers do hide in plain sight, my impression of Dr Rust is of a nervous individual. Superb in surgery or with patients, but anything requiring meticulous planning such as murder or even possessing the nerve? No. Jumps at his own shadow."

Watson gestured to the beaker and table with a smirk and deceptively innocent tone.

"Stefan listed Dr Grant's temper, but the man has an iron nerve and worked part time as a chemist during his studies. I also suspect you have seen something with the beaker Holmes?"

Holmes released a quick laugh and shook his head. His voice was full of pride that filled Watson with a special pleased joy, when his analysis of the situation was deemed insightful by his special and loveable (and occasionally irritatingly) eccentric friend.

"Our murderer knocked over this beaker of alkaline solution. He will be covered in those stains and from what you both related I doubt he would have had time to change before re-joining the lecture if he wished to have an alibi."

Holmes paused to touch the cough syrup. "This was spilt so it is possible our murderer also has some of this liquid on them. Do tell me, can anyone enter and exit the lecture hall and how many exits?"

_Ah. _Watson suddenly guessed what Holmes was seeking.

"Two entrances Holmes, both manned to ensure there is proper order at all times. The surgical unit this morning had one entrance and was equally manned."

Holmes rubbed his hands together and sprang into action, eyes sparkling. "Come on then Watson and Stefan. We have a doctor to catch!"

Infected by Sherlock's enthusiasm Watson cast an apologetic smile at Stefan who was standing bewildered at the abrupt energetic spirit that now waited impatiently at the laboratory door.

"Watson! Do hurry, we must catch this man by suppertime I recall?"

Watson knew he would be hearing that line for weeks. Nonetheless, he still loved his incorrigible detective, so he seized Stefan's elbow and hauled his poor friend with him to the door.

"I have my stick Holmes and Stefan is quick on his feet."

"Excellent, lead on Watson."

As Watson led the way he whispered to Stefan, _"You become accustomed to all this action when living with Holmes."_

Stefan snorted. "You love it _doctor_."

Watson grinned unrepentantly.

* * *

Obtaining a confession from Dr Grant was ridiculously easy.

The orderlies on the door confirmed that Dr Grant had arrived late to the lecture within their timeframe of the murder. Furthermore, no one else had left or joined, apart from Watson who had been fetched by Stefan. Even so that was not definitive proof. 

Stefan simply asked one of the orderlies to deliver a message to Dr Grant and the man appeared.

The minute Stefan introduced them Dr Grant proved that genius did not negate bouts of foolishness. Watson watched in frank amazement as the large fellow scowled then proceeded to shove poor Stefan aside and _run_.

Well, Watson wasn't having any of that and sprinted after Dr Grant. He heard Holmes call after him and the sound of his light footsteps following but he blocked the noise and darted around two startled nurses. Their outraged cries were cut off by a corner and another, this time deserted, corridor. 

Dr Grant glanced back at Watson only briefly before slowing to try and open a door. Watson saw his opportunity and threw himself forward. He collided with Dr Grant and together they fell to the floor.

A life with Holmes had honed Watson's fighting skills so ignoring his stiff shoulder Watson delivered a hard punch. 

There was a satisfying crunch and a howl of pain. Watson was delighted to notice Dr Grant's nose was broken. His hand throbbed, but it was nothing considering they had their man.

Dr Grant was in acute pain and choking as he tried to breathe through his mouth. Taking advantage of the situation, Watson undid his cravat and bound the dazed doctor's wrists, pinning his stomach with one knee.

_"Don't move or I will give you a thrashing!" _

Holmes had arrived, face white with fear and anger. Affection and happiness swamped Watson and he had to be careful of his expression and tone. To know how much Holmes cared was beautifully comforting, making their secretive relationship worth the trouble.

Watson knew Holmes cared, but such demonstrations were always welcome, though he rather Holmes did not end up in trouble for protecting him.

"I am fine Holmes, which cannot be said for Dr Grant. He is all yours for questioning."

Holmes relaxed, a flash of relief in his all too expressive eyes. He did not smile but fixed their suspect with a stern look and commenced his interrogation coldly and relentlessly.

His questions and examination of Dr Grant proved fruitful. The chemical stains of both the alkaline and cough syrup stained his trousers and fingertips respectively and the surgeon had, in a fit of underestimating his colleagues, left both a bottle of opium and morphine in his bag.

Watson personally felt that Dr Grant must be ill, for he surrendered all too easily to Holmes' interrogation and indeed ranted about how Dr Llewellyn's talents were vastly overrated and he was the better candidate.

He was still babbling and groaning in agony due to his nose when Stefan came up with two policeman he must have hastily flagged down.

After that matters proceeded in the typical efficient manner of Scotland Yard.

Watson had his hand and shoulder tended to by Stefan, who declared a massage would solve the stiffness in his shoulder. Holmes had assured Stefan he would happily provide the massage since he had allowed Watson to get into a fight without him.

Stefan simply agreed, only a discreet smile at Watson suggesting he comprehended and that _everything was dandy_. 

Overwhelmingly relieved by the approbation from a valued friend, Watson departed Kings College Hospital feeling quite happy despite his disrupted plans. His ears echoed with Lestrade’s amusement at Watson's ability to get himself into such a predicament and his blatant concern that he now had _two_ men capable of becoming embroiled in crime wherever they visited.

Stefan merely wished them both a good evening and the hope that their next meeting would be a tad less adventurous.

As they walked to catch a Hansom cab Watson felt Holmes slip his arm through his. He looked at Holmes.

"I feel Watson that I should accompany you at the next medical talk you wish to attend. Your fellow professional colleagues cannot be trusted."

"My dear Holmes, I assure you that while such rivalries are common not all of us resort to murder."

Holmes raised an eyebrow and squeezed his arm. 

"Nevertheless, I would like to take the precaution if you would allow."

"As if I could stop you from putting on a disguise and following me." Watson felt an incredible fondness for his lover.

Holmes had the indecency to be smug at Watson's accusation, but his lips quickly were pressed together tightly.

"Look Holmes," said Watson tenderly, "I'll let you come with me as long as you let me do the same when you are in danger."

Holmes hesitated then sighed as he obviously realised this was non-negotiable.

"Agreed."

"Excellent, now let us head home for a good supper and bed."

Holmes grinned and with a bounce on his step he hailed a Hansom cab.

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. My great thanks go to my beta, **Rae** who faithfully reviewed my work and ensured it flowed!
> 
> 2\. Rigor mortis - first use of the term was in the 19th Century:  
https://www.medicinenet.com/script/main/art.asp?articlekey=40573
> 
> https://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/rigor%20mortis
> 
> 3\. “Mrs Windle’s Cough Syrup” is my own invention. However, Victorian medicines were rife with ingredients we would be horrified to find in our medicines. Over the counter remedies would contain opium, laudanum and cocaine, or morphine along with mercury. Pharmacies were largely unregulated, so even though they brought medicine within reach of the working class they could - and often were - poisonous.
> 
> Laws were passed to try and regulate these medicines (see 1868 Pharmacy Act) which were sporadic in their effectiveness. However, there was a growing concern in the medical body about the ingredients in medicine such as cough syrups, powders and pills, or syrups to keep babies quiet, particularly as understanding of these drugs and their effects developed. 
> 
> Eventually stricter laws were passed and regulations became stricter, more enforceable and chemists better trained, but it was a long slog. 
> 
> Further information can be found online and in books:  
*https://www.historic-uk.com/HistoryUK/HistoryofBritain/Opium-in-Victorian-Britain/  
* https://wellcomecollection.org/articles/W87wthIAACQizfap  
* https://www.webmd.com/a-to-z-guides/features/look-back-old-time-medicines#1 
> 
> * _How To Be a Victorian_ by Ruth Goodman, Paperback ISBN 978-0-670-92136-2, reference Index “Drugs and medical treatments”, but pages 243 - 249 (baby and children’s medicine) 277 - 283 (adults). An overview of medical improvements throughout the era are also included.
> 
> 4\. Doctor Lister built on Louis Pasteur’s work on microbes (which proved that microbes did not appear spontaneously leading to the term “germ” soon being used to describe these microorganisms). Through observation of his patients and the latest theories Lister soon argued that these germs caused infection and began to develop a method to save his patients through the use of antisepsis (germ killing).  
He pioneered the use of carbolic acid, constantly developing his methods for cleaning the wound site and the environment as much as possible. He met terrible resistance and set-backs, but persevered and was successful.  
_Reference, the books:_  
* The Butchering Art – Joseph Lister’s Quest to Transform the Grisly World of Victorian Medicine by Lindsay Fitzharris  
* Medicine: The Definitive Illustrated History by DK
> 
> 5\. I have never visited King's College Hospital so apologies for the liberties taken.


End file.
